by J. J. Green
From below came the sound of waves smashing into rocks, rhythmic and relentless.
Clenching her teeth, she gripped the switch stoically and waited patiently for the edge of the sun to appear above the watery horizon.
Earth slowly spun in space, bearing her toward the light of its star. Her body trembled and shook. Finally, she was rewarded with a sunbeam striking out over the ocean.
A new day had begun.
She raised the rod over her right shoulder and, with practiced skill, struck her back with the whip-like twigs. This first strike made little impression against the tough, ridged scars.
She would need to strike herself many times to break her skin, but break her skin she must. Earth required a blood sacrifice. The resources the AP ripped from it while allied with the EAC must be paid for in order to maintain the balance between humanity and its home.
Kala struck her back again, harder this time. She moved the staff to her other shoulder, and hit herself again.
As she continued to work and the sun rose, she warmed up. The chilliness of her position didn’t affect her anymore. Sweat broke out on her face and neck and soddened her armpits. Her animal smell rose around her. She breathed it in, relishing her musk, which mixed with the smell of the sea.
After ten or fifteen minutes, she was gratified to feel a trickle run down her back and over her buttocks. She was bleeding freely at last. When she knelt in a puddle of her own blood, she would stop.
Then a scraping sound came from behind her, the sound of metal against metal.
Someone was opening the door!
She put down her flail and looked over her shoulder, ready to snap a reproof at the newcomer. Whoever it was would receive a severe punishment for disturbing her.
The door opened, and a boy peered around it.
“Perran!”
The adolescent’s eyes stretched wide and his pupils darkened as he took in the sight of her naked, bloody back.
“What are you doing, Mummy?”
“Get out!” she snapped. “Who gave you permission to climb my tower? Get away from here!”
But he didn’t move. His eyes only widened further and his mouth hung open.
“Leave, now! Or I’ll have you flogged.”
Perran did begin to withdraw, but his gaze lingered on her, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Out!”
He left, and the door closed.
The iron catch swung shut.
Vexed and irked that her son had witnessed her act of sacrifice, she continued with her task, but it was hard to fight the distraction. Instead of focusing on the rising sun and devotional thoughts as she should have, she found herself thinking of Perran’s conception and childhood.
She didn’t know who his earthly father was. Many men had come to her in the guise of the Horned God that night in the oak grove, and Perran’s appearance gave no clue about his sire—he looked like a male version of herself. Not that his physical father mattered. He was hers and hers alone to raise in the ways of the Crusade. When he matured to a man, a great role awaited him.
Later, when her arms and back throbbed painfully and her blood sat sticky around her knees, Kala stopped. Her penance completed, she rose from the floor and returned the dripping switch to its position next to the wall.
She almost cried out as she put on her gown and the cloth contacted her open, dripping flesh, but she bit her lip. Complaining when she was the person who had the honor to make the sacrifice would be churlish.
She slipped on her shoes and walked to the door. Turning the iron ring, she pulled it open and stepped out onto the stone stairway. Before she began to descend, she noticed something odd. Far below, within the castle’s inner courtyard, the level of activity was far greater than usual. People were running about or congregating in the open space, as if to discuss an important event. She lifted her skirts and began to walk down the steps.
When she’d nearly reached the bottom of the tower, the castle’s bell began to toll, and faintly, between the chimes, she heard the cry, “Queen Alice is dead!”
She halted.
They’d done it. The EAC and AP’s air fleet had broken through the Britannic Alliance’s defenses and sent the queen to her grave. The blow to the BA’s morale would be devastating. They had ripped the heart from their mutual enemy.
Only one thing now stood in the way, one final achievement that would be the coup de grace: She had to find the man who had been taken from the mountain at Nantgarw-y-garth, just as her soldiers had been closing in on him. Did the BA know who he was? Did they even believe his existence was possible? She barely believed it herself.
If the Crusade were to succeed, he had to die.
Chapter Sixteen
Colbourn was back. She’d arrived during the quiet shift and—for once—she hadn’t summoned Wright to her office immediately. Instead, her comm requesting his presence had popped into his mind as soon as he woke. He wondered if she was becoming more considerate of others, but it turned out he was wrong.
After the brigadier’s summons came an urgent news report: the General Council had been bombed, and, along with other important figures, the Queen had been killed.
He sat up in bed and rubbed his head. It was quite the news to wake up to. How on Earth had it been possible to attack the General Council? Even if the time and location had been leaked, the army and navy would have set up heavy defenses of the area.
He checked the rest of the news report.
It was believed the AP and the EAC had mounted a joint attack. So the two had joined forces? That spelled serious trouble for the BA.
He got up and walked to his shower room.
Poor Queen Alice. The old lady hadn’t deserved to die in such a violent fashion. She’d been on the throne all his life, and, as far as he knew, she’d never been anything but kind and gentle. He guessed Prince Frederick was now king and preparations for his coronation would be underway. Where would they hold it? If a bombing raid against the General Council in the heart of the BA’s domain could succeed, was anywhere on Earth safe anymore?
So much had changed within just a few hours.
A second summons arrived from Colbourn:
You’ve been awake five minutes already, Wright. Where are you?
HE STOOD OUTSIDE COLBOURN’S office, awaiting admittance. For all her impatience in demanding his attendance, she was being awfully slow at actually letting him in. He straightened his uniform jacket and shifted his weight to his other foot.
After another full minute, the door finally slid open.
Wright almost swore in surprise, but stopped himself just in time. He gawped at the scene inside as a medic pushed past him on her way out.
The brigadier had been burned, quite severely. One side of her face was red and blistered and half her hair had been singed away. Her skin glistened, wet with ointment. She was only partially dressed. Her shirt covered the right-hand side of her torso, but her left arm and chest were swathed in dressings, which the medic must have been applying or renewing while he waited.
“Close your mouth, man, and sit down.”
Wright snapped his jaw shut, unaware it had fallen open.
“Ma’am, I had no idea...I’m very sorry...”
The withering look Colbourn gave him made his words dry up. She didn’t need or want his pity.
He took a seat.
“I’m sure it’s obvious we’re in a serious situation,” she said. “The Valiant and her corvettes are to mobilize, battle ready, within the next three hours. I haven’t received the coordinates yet, but we must go as soon as they arrive.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
“You don’t need to do anything right now. I’ve already given the orders. I wanted to talk to you about something else.”
He waited, but she didn’t speak immediately. Some emotion seemed to come over her. Sorrow? Regret? He couldn’t tell. She lost her usual steely look and suddenly appeared tired and older, as if the inner
strength and resolve that had kept her going for years was weakening. She passed a hand over her forehead and gasped in pain as she accidentally touched her seared skin.
Finally, she seemed to decide what she wanted to say. “Wright, I’ll speak plainly. As things stand at the moment...we’re screwed.”
It was not the kind of thing he expected to hear from the brigadier.
In the years she’d been his CO, she’d never been anything except positive and determined. The woman was the exact opposite of a quitter. At times, he’d suspected she would fight off Death himself when he finally came calling.
“I-I’m sorry, ma’am?”
“That’s twice you’ve apologized to me for no reason. If you do it once more, I’ll have you thrown in the brig.”
“Sorr—” He sealed his lips.
Colbourn gingerly rearranged herself slightly in her chair, as if to try to get more comfortable, wincing as she moved. “You’re too young to remember how things used to be, major. When I first entered the Royal Marines as an officer cadet, the BA was at the peak of its power. We’d been successfully rooting out and putting a stop to AP activities for years, preventing damage to ecosystems and helping to preserve Earth’s resources. Other nations lived in security because of us, and, for the most part, the planet was a safe and pleasant place. The EAC was only a fledgling organization, one that, at the time, was believed to be a force for good. We welcomed it with open arms.”
“I learned about it at school,” said Wright, wondering where the brigadier was going. This was history. He wasn’t sure what it had to do with what was happening now. “Then the EAC’s true agenda was revealed, after it had begun to weaken the BA. Then we threw them out, and...”
Colbourn was shaking her head. “That’s the story the politicians love to tell, and that’s what they demand goes down in the history books, but the truth is, the rise of the EAC isn’t to blame for the BA’s changing fortunes. The rot had already begun from within, and the EAC only exploited the opportunity. If the BA had been a solid, ethical, incorruptible entity, the EAC would never have been able to get a foothold. But they saw the infighting, the petty jealousies, the machinations and intrigues, and they found it easy to pit us against each other. Military branch against military branch, politician against politician, business sector against business sector. When the army and the navy don’t work together, battles are lost. When politicians refuse to agree on anything, economies and the citizens’ well-being suffer. When business sectors undermine each other, corporations collapse.”
She paused and turned to the motto framed on the wall behind her. She read it out quietly, as if talking to herself: “Per Mare, Per Terram, Per Astra.”
By sea, by land, by the stars.
Returning her attention to Wright, she said, “It was even true within the ranks of the Royal Marines, and it still is. I may be a bad-tempered, crotchety old bitch, but if you knew the decades of bullshit I’ve endured, you would understand why.”
She spared him an almost-indiscernible smile.
He didn’t bother to deny her description of herself. The brigadier was certainly not fishing for compliments.
“The attack on the General Council has probably come as a shock to you, but I’ve been expecting it for years. Every few months there’s a new defeat, another small territory lost. The assault at the heart of BA territory and the murder of Queen Alice are just more nails in the coffin. I don’t know what the answer is. It seems things have gone too far, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. I’ve been trying not to dwell on the truth, but my injury has brought my mortality into painful relief. I thought, while I still can, I should let you know the true state of things.”
She was silent, but, for once, she didn’t seem intent on kicking him out of her office and off to work as soon as humanly possible. He took advantage of her unusual frame of mind to properly digest what she’d said. The more he thought about it, the more he understood the severity of the situation. The brigadier was the last person who would openly state the BA’s total defeat was likely. If she was telling him this, was there any hope at all?
“What you do about it is up to you,” Colbourn said finally. “I’ve decided I’m going to stick it out to the end, but you’re still young, and none of this is your fault. I don’t see why people like you should become cannon fodder for the incompetents above you.”
“What do you think the future holds?” he asked, in reflex. She seemed to be suggesting that he got out before everything fell apart, but what would he do? Where would he go? He couldn’t imagine a life outside of military service. The brigadier had thrown him a spin ball and he didn’t know what to do with it.
“Honestly? I think, with the help of the AP, the EAC will wipe us off the map. It will seize every last scrap of BA soil and water on Earth and all our space territories. Then, if the AP’s colony ships aren’t completed in time for them to escape, the Crusade will turn on them and destroy them, too. After that, all humanity will be forced to live under the odious cult, gradually devolving into barbarism, cannibalism, and who knows what else, until we’re back to grunting at each other while we hunt with spears. Within a single lifespan, thousands of years of human civilization will be gone.”
“You don’t paint a very pretty picture.”
“There’s no point in sugar-coating it, major.”
“There has to be something we can do.”
“I used to believe so, but now I’m not sure there is. Perhaps what’s happening is inevitable. Perhaps there’s something about the human species that prevents it from ever truly overcoming its instinct to destroy and kill. Perhaps we have always been, and will ever be, doomed.”
Chapter Seventeen
Abacha snoring in his rack above her, the ship’s cat, Boots, transplanted from the Daisy, curling at her feet, and the farting, heavy, rhythmic breathing, and mumbled words of marines talking in their sleep told Taylan she was the only one awake in the cabin.
She pushed her hand between her mattress and bed frame and took out her interface. Electronics after lights out were strictly forbidden, but she didn’t give a shit anymore. The Valiant was mobilizing, and her already slim chances of returning to West BI were gone. She would have to remain in military service and fight, when she could have been...
She opened her device, turned down the brightness, and navigated the familiar, well-trodden digital path to the vids buried in her files.
After escaping to Ireland, she’d only managed to retrieve a small amount of her personal data from the lifetime’s worth she had in her cloud before the EAC blew the banks on BI, thus destroying most records of her life along with quadrillions more items of private, governmental, and corporate information.
She usually viewed the few vids she had remaining in chronological order. It had always seemed the best way to try to make sense of everything that had happened, but in truth it never really worked.
This time, instead of going automatically to her earliest recording, made when she was a child, she picked the last one, created just before she’d fled the BI and enlisted with the Royal Marines.
She tapped the screen, connecting the vid to her implanted comm so only she would hear the audio, rested her head on her pillow, and watched.
She’d begun recording just before the attack, clipping her small interface to the front of her jacket. Why exactly she’d decided to capture that moment, she didn’t know. Maybe, somehow, she’d foreseen what would happen.
A brilliant green hillside. It was raining, the raindrops on the screen distorting the picture. The scene jerked up and down as she ran, but then her pace had slowed. She’d turned, looking back. Behind her ran the slower of her neighbors: the old, the young, the sick, the disabled.
Beyond them, over the rise, came EAC troops, firing.
Pivoting forward again, she’d raced on.
Her emotions from the time swept over her, as if she were there again: fear she and her family would die, guilt that she
couldn’t do anything to help the others, her friends, her neighbors. She had no weapon, and even if she had, stopping to fight off the invaders would put her children in more danger.
Through the rain, the object of their flight appeared. At the base of the hill an old farmhouse huddled, and a narrow ribbon of gray road wound away from it across the landscape. If they could reach the building, they had a chance of escaping.
Suddenly, a chubby, pink knee blocked the camera’s view.
Kayla.
Taylan gripped her interface tighter.
A scream!
One of the villagers had been hit. The EAC were within firing range.
They would pick them off, shooting the slowest runners first, gradually catching up to them and shooting more and more until no one was left. The EAC took no prisoners. They were not interested in the natives of any area they stole. Anyone who wasn’t in their cult was impure and beyond redemption. They wanted only the land for their own people.
It had become a race to the death.
A second scream. This one went on for long seconds until it abruptly cut off.
The knee blocking the view moved as Taylan shifted her daughter to her other hip. As she did so, her jacket swung and her interface caught a glimpse of Patrin, running ahead. He’d always been fast, beating all the other boys his age at school.
The farmhouse had moved closer.
She recalled her terror, wondering if they would make it.
The bumping, lurching recording picked up movement at the door to the farmhouse. It had opened, and figures were emerging.
For a few terrifying heartbeats she’d thought they were EAC troops, the house already in enemy hands, and they were coming out to attack from the opposite side. She, her children, and the rest of her village would be slaughtered.
But they were not. The men and women now running toward them were West BI resistance. They were coming to their rescue.
For some, it was already too late. As the resistance fighters were speeding up the hill toward them, more shouts of pain and agony came from the rear. Taylan thought she recognized the voices, but she didn’t dare take the time to look around and see who had fallen.
